Not the Type
by Leanan Sidhe
Summary: (Pre-movie)Lara Andrews is not the type to break the rules or to take a chance. And she most certainly isn't the type to motor a hit man around the Big Apple. But she'll find out she might just be the type to prove she is the type.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I do not own Collateral, or Vincent because he would take offence and bam bam bam…not in a good sense that would be the end of me. I do own Andrews though, so lay off, she's my baby and any other character that you have not heard of is mine. Thanks to SpadesJade for giving me the inspiration to write this. Well, let's get started.

* * *

"Wipe down, table ten! Lara?"

"I'm on it."

Life was normal. It wasn't good, or great. It wasn't terrible or miserable. Life was just scraping by on seven fifty an hour and that was okay by Lara Andrews. It wasn't bad at all working waitress shifts at Paint the Town, a small Jazz joint. The music was nice, the food was edible, maybe even very good at times, and the most interesting people walked through that door to catch some easy listening.

Lara liked to watch them. The hip cats and their arm candies, the married couples, first dates, and loners that came to dig the groove and liquor that they had to offer. By the time most of them had paid their check she had invented their whole lives from the moment of their conceptions to gambling at their eventual cause of deaths.

No one noticed she did this though, partly because she made sure never to voice her thoughts aloud and partly because no one noticed her anyway. She was used to it; she had never been very good at being visible. For some reason she always ended up fading into the woodwork, and people just ended up glancing over her. It didn't exactly help matters that she was as inconspicuous as you could get. Brown eyes, straight long brown hair that was currently tied together in a simple braid. Glasses…and somewhat of a poco gordo figure. She wasn't overweight, per se, but she wasn't underweight either. She just was the way she was. A quiet person who preferred books and music to social interaction.

Most of her co-workers were blonds so there was no real threat of social interaction. But that was Andrews in a can, properly labeled and shelved. That was the way she liked it. Her life was predictable and safe even for a freshman in college living in the Big Apple.

And it's strange that it took only a runaway cab, a misconception, and regular customer to change her way of thinking.

* * *

It had been a Friday. She remembered because the house had been packed. Friday's were always Chicago night and they always drew a large crowd; mostly men who were willingly seduced when the Cell Block Tango was performed. If only people showed up like this for the real Jazz sessions, Lara thought ruefully, shaking her head as she headed back to the bar to fill up a lawyer's fifth glass of the night.

The other waitresses were clustered in a corner sharing daily gossip most likely. She was surprised they still got paid after all the time they wasted.

"Oh motherfucking god!"

That was Sheryl, the leader of the below average IQ pack, and she was shrieking high enough to call dogs, as she rushed over to the clump of her fellows. "I just seated one hot daddy at table six, the one near the stage. Holy sexy shit, girls…you should be so lucky…!"

"You know we are still being paid to do a job here." Lara reminded them as she set the glasses on a sturdy tray and made to do her job at serving table three.

She knew it was Myra's voice that hit her turned back by her accent, "Look at litt'l Miss Sandra fuckin' Dee, all holier than thou. Stupid chica thinks just 'cause she's all meek an' mild it'll help her get a man. Listen up, Punta, no man's gonna want a girl who follows the rules, he's gonna want a woman who can handle herself. So hide behind your shitty books and keep your nose out of this."

"Hey, I'm just here to help pay for my tuition. Guys are the last thing on my mind, and they should be the last on yours. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have customers who are parched." Usually Lara just let it go. It was no big thing. She had heard worse, endured worse from people in high school, but it was late and she was tired. She had snapped back and oddly enough she felt satisfaction in having the last word. She never had the last word.

Table three was very grateful for their drinks.

"Lara, get over here."

Lara printed out a receipt for table nine, slipped it in the little black folder, dropped it off, and thanked the young lovers for their business. Only after she had finished her duty did she come to the command of her boss.

"What's going on, Farley?"

"I need you to serve table six."

Lara stopped short, wiping her hands on a towel behind the bar, "But Myra's got that table. Fourteen's open." She pointed out.

"Sheryl's got fourteen. Myra can't stop flirting with the customer at six. I need you to take over. You're a smart girl. You won't lose your head over a pretty face."

Lara felt a little irritated at the insinuation that she wouldn't do such a thing so contrary to her nature as to disobey the rules. Everyone, even the strictest of the strict, liked to think there was a possibility for insanity. The feeling passed quickly and was swiftly replaced by a feeling of pride instead.

"Sir, I've already got five other tables…" She began.

"Please, Andrews, I don't want to have to beg, the back's giving me trouble again, but I will. This guy's big. He's important, can tell by the way he's dressed. Might be a reporter. Could put this place back on its feet full time. I need my best on this."

"Jeeze, alright." She laughed, throwing the towel down, "I can never say no to a man with a bad back, I'm a sucker for them."

"Thanks, Andrews. I owe you."

"Put it on my check…"

"Now let's not be greedy. We'll see." He patted her on the shoulder fondly, "Now go and tell Myra to get her ass out of there. She's got Dish Duty now."

Lara smirked as she went to tell the Sassy Senorita the good news. In all actuality, Dish Duty was the dreariest thing to do in the club. Every girl there lived in fear of getting assigned to it. Myra was going to raise hell, which was always interesting to watch if you knew where to stand so as to dodge flying coffee mugs.

Table six was probably one of their best seats. Close to the stage, somewhat shadowed, and close enough to traveling waitresses to make special requests.

Lara almost didn't even see that there were actual people occupying the comfy, snug, shady interior of the leather booth until she was all but standing over them, one of being who was Myra. That was strictly against protocol. Servers weren't supposed to sit and chat with the customers.

She cleared her throat softly before plunging in, "Myra, Farley wants you to do DD tonight."

Myra's tanned face melted from the shadows as she pushed it angrily into the sparse light of the secluded corner, "Well, you tell that fat bastard I ain't doin' it! I'm busy…do it yourself and screw off."

"DD?" Inquired a soft, sort of rough voice from the obscured darkness beside Myra. Lara was immediately reminded of the growl of a feral cat and the feel of grain like rocks between her fingers.

"Dish Duty." Myra explained, waving it off, "But I won't do it." She rounded on Lara, "And you can tell the old fart I said just that!"

Lara raised a brow, "Should I tell him you're hassling the customers, too?"

"It's no hassle." The voice intoned coolly from his shadowed direction, but Myra rode him over, fuming.

"You do and you'll meet with mi amigos y mi familia out back. La Punta el Diablo…" the Spanish lady snapped, "I'll pound your ass into the gravel if you utter so much as a syllable…"

A calming and restraining hand rose from the black of the booth to grasp the boiling chica's arm gently and she immediately stilled. When the voice spoke again it directed itself at Lara.

"Is there a problem with her being here?"

It was really starting to nervously tick Lara off that she couldn't see who was addressing her. She turned to where she assumed the man's face would most likely be and admitted frankly that such a thing was against the regulations of the waitressing staff. They had been told not to do it, plain and simple.

"And do you always do what you're told…" there was a pause and Lara knew the man was leaning a bit forward to make out her name tag, "…Lara Andrews?"

Even to her ears that sounded faintly malicious, mocking almost. The same tone of voice Myra and the others used to tease her…to insinuate her law and rule abiding life was trivial. Screw it if she was going to take that from a faceless stranger.

She drew herself up, annoyance with this guiseless taunter straightening her back, "Yes, in fact, I do." She answered in clipped tones.

"Good." The reply sounded pleased. There was a slithery sound of expensive cloth as the voice rummaged for something in his pockets. A wad of bills was presented, followed by a hand, an arm, and finally a face, alighted by the dim glow of the bandstand lights.

He was arresting…

Lara had never seen a man so remotely beautiful and cold. The man resembled frost from his sharp angular cheek bones, to his steel grey green eyes…and prematurely grey hair. He immediately set off an air of faint menace, almost as if he were a force to rival an electrical storm.

"Because," he continued, "I'm going to tell you to go to you boss and tell him I will gladly pay for this young lady's company, as well as for her meal."

Myra beamed, looking like the cream of the crop. A special order. It happened once and a while when a girl caught someone's eye. Attractive guy, Lara thought, bad taste.

With a hesitant hand Lara took the money from him, their fingers touching briefly at the transfer.

"O.K." She replied, slipping the fold of bills into her pocket.

"Okay?"

She nodded, "Can I get you anything else?"

"Water would be lovely."

She felt by his tone of voice he was still poking fun at her. It wasn't that the request was so odd; it was the way in which it was said. As if all this was for his immediate amusement. She decided to ignore it for now.

"And…anything for your lady friend?"

Myra answered for herself, "Martini, straight up. With a twist."

Lara scribbled down the separate orders and underlined them twice. She removed her glasses, slipping them into the collar of her shirt.

"Alright. Your orders will be brought around shortly." She clicked her pen three times and turned to go.

"Will you be our server for the rest of the night?" The man inquired softly, Lara turned to answer with a smooth retort when Myra beat her to it.

"Let's hope not." She snorted snidely brushing her ebony curls over her shoulder.

Lara smiled as she turned back and made her way to the kitchens. Took the words right from her mouth.

Farley accepted the money offered for Myra's dinner.

"Knew he was something. That's four fifties. Hell All Mighty. He's probably asking her all sorts of questions about the place. That's what these reporters do; ask questions about the state of the place…"

Lara left him to his frantic thoughts of success and handed the orders to the barkeep, a slightly funny, sweet guy her own age by the name of Gerry, and whispered, "Ice in his veins and a plain Marty with a Twist of Bullshit."

Gerry turned to her, "One ice water and a straight Martini with lime coming right up."

* * *

Lara ended up doing Myra's Dish Duty shift on top of her five other tables and the one that held the reporter or food critic…she didn't know what the hell he was. She traded off between the purging of gross remains from half finished plates and making sure the glasses never went dry at the tables.

She had one more load of dishes to take care of after her last table. Table six was still in use. Questionnaires didn't take people this long. Some interview. Lara blew some dangling stray hairs away from her eyes as she trudged back to the kitchens.

"Excuse me…" Hand at her wrist. Gentle but firm. She paused.

"…we're done."

The man pushed forward the black folder on the slick surface of the table. Lara swiped it up and flicked it open. Cash, of course.

"Thank you."

Lara met his eyes and nodded.

"Hey, Punta…"

Lara closed her eyes for a moment and then turned calmly to face Myra.

"…enjoy DD without me?"

For the second time that night Lara broke her vow of indifference.

"Always, Myra." She answered.

Myra's triumphant expression dropped instantly. This reply however had a drastic difference on the man. His eyes lit up, his accommodating smile expanded in a true grin bearing his teeth, and he let loose a soft echo of laughter.

"I hope you had a lovely time at Paint the Town," Lara repeated the manta of thanks by memory, "Please come again. Excuse me."

And dispensing with the pretence of following the ordered polite demeanor she walked back to the kitchen. The man's smothered chuckle followed her.

* * *

DD was terrible but it did have one redeeming factor. You were allowed to listen to whatever tunes you wanted, and break the sound barrier by doing so, if you so wished. At the moment Lara was blowing Fiona Apple up as loud as she was able, and attacking the grime and residue on the plates as she did so.

"I got my feet on the ground and I don't goooooooo ta sleep ta drea-ha-heeeeem…" She hummed as she squirted another hefty amount of disinfectant soap on one particular plate. "You got your head in the clouds and you're not at all what ya seem…This mind, this body, and this voice cannot be…"

Someone turned down the volume with a quick flick of the wrist.

"…stifled…" Lara finished half heartedly, to tell off one of the mindless sheeptresses and turned, suds in her hair and big yellow plastic gloves on her hands, to find the man who had paid for Myra, leaning up against the stainless steel counter.

Lara brushed back a strand of hair from her eyes, "Can I help you? Sir?"

He didn't seem to be paying her any mind. His attention, the focus of his person was one, strangely enough, the layout of the kitchen.

"Sir?" She inquired again, removing the gloves and laying them aside.

His eyes found her as if she hadn't been standing there the whole time. An obliging smile graced his face. "No, no…" the man shook his head gently, "I don't need anything. I just wanted to thank you again for your services tonight."

Lara reached behind her to untie her smock and tossed it aside, "Well, your tip…was more than enough of a thank you for me, sir." Tip. Hell, it had been a small fortune. Who carried that much money with them anyway?

"Maybe so…" the man nodded and took a step forward, "but I wanted to say it in any case."

It felt impolite to do anything less of saying a "You're welcome," in return so she did, but guardedly.

They stood like that for a while, just regarding each other across the expanse of the white tiled floor. The silence made her nervous.

"Where's Myra?"

Some conversation starter. Lara really didn't care how stupid or obvious the change of topic was, just so long as he wasn't staring at her. She didn't know why then, but something about him was off.

Still no matter how stupid or obvious the change as it had been, it seemed to throw the man for a loop. He glanced over his shoulder as if the mentioned waitress would make an entrance at a moment's notice, as if he had all but forgotten of her existence. He passed a hand behind his head and massaged his neck with it, then dropped it to his side.

"Her boyfriend called. Wanted to know where she'd been. She excused herself to the little girls' room…" He uttered a guttural laugh. "I suppose that's as good an excuse as any to get out of a date."

"Um hmm…" Lara murmured, closing the dishwasher and setting it on the heavy duty wash cycle.

They stood in silence a while more. Lara didn't like the way his eyes kept flicking to the setup of the room, it was eerie, as if he were imprinting each glance into his memory.

"You really shouldn't be back here, sir." Lara attempted finally.

His eyes snapped to her with uncanny speed, as if he were frustrated she had interrupted his inner thoughts. Who was this guy?

"I'm sorry." He replied, "Just wanted to tell you, you did bang up job tonight."

"Thank you."

He turned with a charming smile, "Well…good night."

"Goodnight."

The kitchen door swung shut behind him.

Shaking her head in confusion, Lara made sure all the appliances were off, shrugged on her coat, and patted Farley on the back as she said goodnight before he did a last sweep of the place before closing up.

Lara made for her old reliable black Honda in the lot behind the joint. Her working day was done.


	2. The ride that ended in the restroom

Disclaimer: I own nothing except Andrews… and Vincent's boxers…cause I stole them! (sounds of gunshots from in the distance) "LEE, GIVE THEM BACK!" Hey you might start a fad, hit men who conduct work in the nude! "GODDAMN IT LEE, I WANT THEM BACK NOW! I'll give you til ten…" Gotta go, folks, enjoy.

* * *

It was the curse that made her look up from the key she had just placed in her car door, and a few paces away stood the cause.

It was the man. He swirled around on his heels as if looking for something, something he had lost. Half turned, he caught sight of her with a jerk of familiarity and began to hurry over.

"Wait…"

Just great.

"Please…" he began jogging over to stand still on the passenger side of the car, "my cab's left me here and I need to get to the airport…"

Lara pointedly unlocked only the driver's side, "I can call you another taxi…" She offered.

The man shook his head as if such an idea were out of the question, "No time. My flight leaves in an hour. It'll take a taxi half that time just to get here. Look, I'm sorry to impose on you like this but…could you possibly give me a lift?"

Lara hesitated. She didn't even know this man and this was New York City for crying out loud. She knew the risks involved.

It seemed the man knew exactly the kind of sentiments she was focusing on because he made the decision easier for her, at least in a way that she couldn't say no, "Look, I can pay you three hundred dollars now if you can agree to help me. So…what do you say?"

Three hundred dollars was a lot…not enough to diminish her uneasiness with him, but too much to refuse. Lara felt around for the pepper spray in her coat pocket. It was her insurance, her safety blanket. No woman was fully dressed without one.

She unlocked the passenger side.

"What's your name?" She asked.

"Vincent."

Lara knew she couldn't have picked a better name for him herself.

"Well, Vincent…you've got a plane to catch. Hop in."

Flashing her a brilliant smile, the man, ducked into the car, quickly shutting the door and fitting the seat belt around him.

Lara slid in beside him and started the ignition and geared up the engine. Her foot pressed lightly on the gas and they left the lot.

"How fast can you get us there?" Vincent, how funny that he should suddenly have a name now to her, asked quickly.

"Sir…"

"Vincent." He corrected her firmly.

"Vincent…" she managed, "this is New York…but at this time of night, depending on the lights and which clubs are opening…" She shrugged her shoulders unsure, "Thirty five…forty…give or take a few minutes."

Vincent took a glance at his watch and nodded, "Perfect."

"It'll be a close shave." She warned him.

"I've had worse." He assured her.

She took a left then.

Vincent turned his head to look over his shoulder, "Other way."

Lara actually found herself smiling. She knew this city like she knew Myra would call her a bitch in Spanish the next afternoon.

"Faster way." She said simply as an explanation.

In a manner of seconds they were cruising along the Bridge.

Vincent turned to view her with an amused air, "Amazing…"

Lara felt oddly proud at this easy compliment.

"…I'll have to remember that."

"This your first time in New York?" Lara asked curious.

"No." He gave no elaboration but then she hadn't asked for one.

"You don't mind if I listen to some music, do you?" She asked, taking out a cd with one hand, her other on the wheel, her eyes never straying from the road.

"Go ahead." He allowed her.

The disk slid into the player. A moment following a woman began to hum a dark lullaby…soon replaced by the moan of a violin.

Vincent seemed to classify the music instantly, "Classical? I hadn't really pegged you for a classical type of girl, considering where you work."

"Soundtracks." Lara corrected him firmly. She didn't like just any ol' classical bit of tune. This music had to evoke a certain image in her to catch her interests, "And where I work has nothing to do with it. It's just a job to pay the rent. You know?"

"Yeah," He replied softly, "I do."

"I get work where I can, and Paint the Town was just there when I was. Fate. Destiny. Predestination. Whatever. It's just the way it happened."

Lara stopped herself. What had induced her to talk so much about her own personal life? She had never opened up this much to her family let alone to a perfect stranger. What was wrong with her?

Noting her suddenly silent mood Vincent changed the topic back to the safer conversation of music, "Are you telling me you don't like Jazz?"

A little confused still, Lara was glad for something to distract her from her current train of thought about her slipping defenses, "No, I mean don't get me wrong. Jazz is nice. I'm not its biggest fan but if it's played well…then yeah I do like it."

Vincent shook his head as if he couldn't understand any reason to dislike Jazz.

"Let me guess," she attempted to volley the inquisition back in his direction, "you like Jazz."

"Love it."

"Funny, I wouldn't have pegged you for a Jazz man."

"Well then I guess both our assumptions were off."

"I guess so."

Before the silence could settle too thickly Lara pushed the question out of her, "So…what did Myra have to say?"

Vincent looked bewildered for a moment as if he didn't know who she was talking about, "Oh, very little."

"Did she say anything about the club?" She pressed him.

"Lots of things, not very complimentary, mind you. Why?"

Lara shook her head angrily that Myra might have trashed the only chance the club had ever had to get some sort of following, "A bad write up could cause Farley to lose the place…"

"Who's Farley?"

Lara furrowed her brow. Mr. Reporter didn't even know who ran the club? "The owner."

"Wait…wait…hold on. What are you talking about?" The man seemed genuinely perplexed.

A horrible suspicion happened upon her.

"You're not a reporter…are you?" She accused.

He blinked in surprise, "No. No, why would you think that?"

"Oh Christ," Lara moaned, "He's going to be so let down. He was really hoping this was his big break, you know?"

"No," he chuckled, "Not really."

Lara sighed in exasperation at how they had all been fooled by the well-to-do-suit, and blinded by the man's easy going charm, "He thought you were a reporter hired to write a review for the place. Farley's been waiting years for a shred of recognition and he just naturally assumed that you were it." She continued adding on top of that, "Stupid. But you can't really blame us. I mean, why else would you have invited an employee to join you? We were all under the impression you were asking her questions about the rundown of the club…a survey or something."

"No, no survey." The man clarified, "I'm in Real Estate. One night. Make a few stops, see a few friends, close a couple of deals. I had business with Ms. Antomosa to discuss some payments she had yet to make final."

Lara let that sink in as she navigated the streets, something she knew she could do blindfolded and drugged, "I take it you got everything sorted out, however?"

He darted a brief glance at her, "Oh, yes…everything was taken care of."

Lara nodded, signaling that was good for him. They were approaching the exit to the airport now. At last, despite the intriguing quality of the conversation, Lara found herself desperately wishing she could just load him off now by the side of the highway. It was late. She was tired, and he was looking at her in that peculiar way again. A look that seemed to symbolize that she were a five hundred piece puzzle he could solve in a minute flat.

"May I ask you something?"

Lara closed her eyes briefly, grip on the wheel tightening as her discomfort increased, "I suppose so…"

He didn't address a point for a while, causing Lara to become very anxious, enough so that she had to send him a swift sideways glance to be sure he hadn't suffered a silent heart attack. But he was alive, awake, and gazing intently on her. Her eyes swept back to the road, nervously.

"Yes?" She prodded only hoping to put an end to the silence that permeated the interior of the vehicle.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

Lara nearly ran the car off the road, but managed to only swerve drastically to the left.

"I don't think that's really any of your business." She gasped out, incredulously, her hands clenching a strangling hold on the wheel.

"It's a simple question." He argued.

"Which I don't have to answer."

"No," He agreed, "you're not the type to answer something like that."

The claim froze Lara. She was sick and tired of hearing this from people. Myra, 'You're not the type to drive a man out of his mind and into bed like me, Punta.' Her parents, 'You're not the type sweetie, to risk your future on a dream. You'll want a solid education at a college where you can make the right choices." And now, now this stranger had the gall to use that phrase, that demandable grouping of words on her. She wanted to know why everyone seemed to class her in that file as one that was not the type.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She felt the question climb up her throat in a growl.

Whether or not Vincent acknowledged this drastic change of tone, he went on regardless, "Well…it is a bit obvious, don't you think? You're what, eighteen? Trying to work your way through the first year of college…I bet you've never got lower than an A in high school. Prim, proper, orderly…never take a risk, take a chance, take a jump…even for your own satisfaction…"

Lara's foot stepped on the gas, the airport drop off speeding forward steadily.

"…The idea of romance, of company means very little to you…impedes your judgment, slows you down, is a distraction and you've got more important things to do, don't you? Change the world? Reevaluate Einstein's Theory of Relativity? Prove him wrong?"

Lara screeched the car to a halt in a yellow lined place. If she didn't move in thirty seconds her car would most likely be towed, but she didn't care. She didn't plan on being here even that long.

"…So what do you think? Did I hit the nail on the head?"

"I think you should get out now." Lara could barely form the words she was so furious…for the most part because every little utterance from his mouth had stuck some hard core truth in her, no matter how much she denied it or rebelled such a realization. The locks popped, screaming the sound of her rage and her burning desire for him to leave, so she could forget all he had said.

He ignored her request, swiveling around to look at the gate 4B and snuck a glance at his watch, "You got us here early, good job. I have to deal with a friend's father before I leave." He reached into his pocket and retrieved a roll of bills. Lara didn't care about the money he had promised her, she didn't want it now. She just wanted him gone.

"Thanks for the ride."

"Fuck you." The coldly venomous reply shocked her own ears. She had never used that word before. "Now, get out of my car, or I swear to god," Lara threatened hand inside her coat pocket, curling around the small can, "I'll pepper spray you within an inch of your life."

He had stilled at the first word of her warning, but instead of quickening his exit, it seemed to make him linger, a half surprised - half slightly pleased smile spreading his lips to show his teeth, which seemed strangely sharp in the light that radiated from the gates. He fixed her with that gaze, "That was the first time you've used the word 'fuck', wasn't it? Does that no longer make you an oral virgin?"

That did it. She yanked the pepper spray out with a jerk and opened her mouth to let all manner of new obscenities pour forth from her, in the hope that the combined efforts would drive him from the car. And which all seemed like good ideas at the time, but proved not to be.

The man, the bastard Vincent, acted quickly and on his feet. Grabbing her wrist with one hand he pressed the four one hundred bills against the nozzle of the can, blocking it, and with the other tugged on her plaid scarf around her neck, causing her mouth to collide with his.

Lara's eyes widened to the point of popping out of her head, and then squeezed tightly shut as she fought to pry him away from her, to end his assault, but the scarf held firm.

She moved her head to one side in an effort to catch him off guard and tear away, but only succeeded in deepening the force of the kiss. Quite suddenly a tremor wracked her body. Oh, please! This was not a time for her feminine hormones to sit up and take notice.

And he noticed her body taking notice because he smiled into her mouth. She wouldn't be embarrassed like this. She wouldn't stand for it. With a powerful wrench, she pulled her head to the side, the scarf unwrapped and she fell back harshly against the door, breathing shakily, mostly from her humiliation.

He merely smiled, "I take it back. Now, you're no longer orally a virgin."

She wanted him out. She wanted him gone. And she wanted to curse again. She said the one thing that could solve all three of these problems.

"You're late, dick-head. You'll miss your plane, and if you don't leave, I'll call the cops."

"Calm down…there's no need to get excited, it was just a kiss. Besides, you're not the type I go for, so don't flatter yourself." He said, opening the door. He pointed at the money still in her grip, "Four hundred, extra hundred for making it here early. Buy yourself something nice."

He stepped and slammed the door shut, stopping only to lean down at the window, "When I sell an apartment I'll be sure to mention your Jazz spot. They need more of them in Manhattan."

He tapped the car twice and then turned and walked away.

Lara didn't know why she felt the need to watch him make that journey, and to see him disappear beyond the gate but she did. Then putting a hand to her head, she pushed her hair back from her eyes, threw the scarf in the back; hating it, and started the long drive back to the city. Her impotence with her own lack of strength overwhelmed her to the point of further confusion of her feelings about the exchange.

So much confusion in fact, it did not register in her that the man had been without luggage.

* * *

Lara entered the club the next afternoon worn but determined. She had slept very little, having spent most of the night going over what had been said in the car.

He had been right.

She wasn't the type.

But she would be. She would prove him wrong and herself even if she died trying.

She was the first one to open the place along with Farley that evening, and the polluted sky let some small dwindling light patches of the setting sun through, enough to bathe the polished tables into reflecting the shine onto the walls. As they straightened up and prepared for the night ahead, more people started to trickle in to help in the kitchens or to start a sound check on the small side stage.

"Anyone seen Myra? She's two hours late." Farley grumbled, checking to see if the beer was well stocked.

"Surprise, surprise. She's probably sleeping off the after effects of last night." Lara mumbled, cleaning out a tall glass.

"She left with the reviewer?"

Lara slammed the glass down suddenly, bristling at the mere mention of he man, Vincent. She picked up another heavy glass and began to brutally scrub it out.

"No, I did."

"You?" Farley nearly dropped a crate of his best coolers.

"Yeah. He wasn't a reporter, Farley." Lara exposed the truth sadly, sorry to see him so diminished by the news, "He was into Real Estate if you can believe it."

"What?"

"But he said…" Many things, he had said many things but good ol' hopeful Farley only had to know about one of them, "…he said he'd tell his customers abou…"

She was cut off from her telling of the events when one of the blonds screamed from somewhere in the back of the club, where the restrooms were.

"Jesus Christ. Can you see what that was all about, Lara? I can't handle all this today. Not today." Farley muttered.

Lara nodded, wiping her hands and making her way to the back. There were only so many things girls could scream about: Boys, a sale at Tiffany's, and more Boys. She better not find anyone bunking in the stalls again.

She stood outside the Ladies door and knocked lightly, there was no answer but a muffled soft, erratic sound.

"Brenda?" It didn't sound like Brenda. She tried again, "Juli? Is that you?"

The unclear sound grew louder and Lara placed it as sniffles. Juli was the only person she knew who sniffled so loudly. But why was she crying?

"Juli? You all right in there?" She pushed open the swinging door, not sure whether or not a makeup kit would hurtle at her like had happened countless times before when she had accidentally entered the loos while the girls were applying their lip gloss.

The restroom was vacant and as empty as a tomb if only for a shadow huddled behind the door of the last stall.

"Juli?" Lara called out gently again.

The shadow let out a choked sob.

Some asshole had probably broken up with her and she wanted to be left alone. Lara turned to go to give the girl the privacy she deserved. But the terrified whisper stopped her in her tracks.

"Lara?"

That was the first clue that something was severely wrong. Juli, who had never been a great friend of hers, had just called her by her first name; something practically unheard of, it almost always was Andrews. The second clue was the tone…the desperation.

Lara's footsteps quickened as she made for the last stall door. Bursting through she found Juli huddled in one corner, knees drawn up against her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. She looked a mess. Mascara streamed down her cheeks and she rocked slightly on her heels.

"Juli?" Lara approached her hesitantly afraid to startle the girl, "Are you sick?"

The girl was sweating profusely, something Lara noticed with faint alarm, and turned to pull a few sheets of toilet paper out o the dispenser to wipe her brow.

Lara didn't scream. Her reflexes were better than that and her hand had already blocked the shout by the time her eyes took in what she was seeing, the rest she had to swallow back into her throat dryly.

Slowly, little by little, her hand dropped from her mouth until she was sure she wouldn't cry out again.

Myra's body lay a few feet from both of them. She was dead, that much was certain, as was evident by the bullet wounds in her head and chest. Blood was splattered against the walls, framing her like a grisly masterpiece.

Somehow Lara managed to get her vocal cords working, although the own sound of her voice seemed distant to her.

"Juli, tell Farley to call the police."

She heard the girl scramble to her feet and flee from the murder scene.

Because that was what this was. This was murder.

That word sat ill on Lara. Myra had been murdered…right here. Where had everyone else been at the time? Why had no one heard a shot…or a scream for that matter? If Lara hadn't been blasting her music and talking to that man, would she have heard something…been able to do something?

Myra had never been a friend, had never been close, but she was still a human life…snuffed out for no reason.

It was senseless, is what it was. Senseless and stupid.

Lara backed out slowly until she found herself in front of a frantic Farley.

"What is it?"

"I found Myra…" She replied dully, trying to wipe the images from her mind, as she grabbed the phone from him.

9-1-1.

Lara couldn't help thinking as she waited for the call to connect that some…at least a part of this was her fault, and she couldn't pin point the reason for such a feeling. Maybe if Myra had been the one to leave with the man last night she would still be alive.

The girls were beginning to huddle close to the restroom entryway.

"Get away from that door now!" Lara barked, causing the girls to jump at the hard order.

"Lara…Lara, for god's sake, tell me what's happened!" Farley begged her. She saw the other girls once frightened away from the door congregated around Juli, in the hopes of hearing the details about what had upset her; but the girl just shook her head violently from side to side, hands over her ears.

"Lara…" Farley tried again.

"Emergency services…" Answered a nameless voice over the phone.

"Yes. Yes, I'd like to report a murder."

She knew the words were coming out, but she didn't know how. Surely she wasn't in control of her actions now. Everything was being done by instinct. Lara herself wasn't there. She wasn't there when Farley ran to the restrooms to see for himself. She wasn't there as the officer on the other line spoke the instructions for this kind of situation, but she answered for that girl.

"Yes…I'll hold."

* * *

(Interlude: Vincent)

Business class suited him. There really was no other way to fly. Secluded. Private.

It had been some night. He had barely made time; the damn cabbie had taken off right after the third hit at the Jazz club. How the man had gotten out of the bindings was still a mystery. Thankfully the girl had still been there.

His lips curled a bit at the corners in remembrance. The girl.

That had been an interesting distraction. She had been fairly attractive, but she wasn't his type. There were certain things he had gladly taken careful note of, however; her figure for instance. Physically she hadn't been too shabby, but she was too cautious, too careful, too smart…a girl like that was hard to control, and Vincent liked to be in charge of all situations.

She had provided some amusement in any case. It was nice to know he could still rip away all masks and pretences. People were so predictable, so easy to read…it almost wasn't fun to try anymore.

But the results it yielded were still pleasurable.

The look on her face:

'Do you have a boyfriend?'

Priceless.

She had been a game he'd played before, in many different ways, in many different cities.

Vincent's brow darkened.

And then something had set her off. He couldn't name what it had been but…

'Thanks for the ride.'

'Fuck you…'

And at the moment he had been sorely tempted to, but he had been short on time.

As it was he had just enough time to execute the cabbie's father, who worked as a janitor in the airport, and board the plane, let alone change that little waitress's world in that car.

It had been some night, but he still managed to be right on time.

'You're late dick-head…you'll miss your plane…'

She was wrong, had proved herself wrong by proving him right. No matter where you went, people were just as easy to break as the place before.

He disliked New York, not as much of course as he hated other places like L.A., but he still couldn't stand going there.

He shrugged his shoulders blithely. Most likely he'd never see her again. A light gone in a blink, one star, one mortal flame snuffed out in an instant. Wayfaring strangers passing once on a side road.

That was them.

That was the whole human race.

And he was the only one who could see it for what it was.

A big fucking Cosmic Joke. The punch line of the fucking galaxy.

What was done, what was said…

What did it matter?

The girl would be something in a few years.

* * *

Myra's death went unsolved for four years and while Lara's mind often drifted to the exchange with the stranger that had altered her life, she never once connected the two. Not once.

* * *

Thanks for all the reviews. A mega thanks to milady SpadesJade: I have never received such a review as yours. I cannot express efficiently how much those words meant to me. All I can say is thank you, and hope that we can both sustain each other in times when we happen upon a Collateral Draught of Inspiration. 


	3. Summertime and the truth is nigh

Disclaimer: I own Vincent when he's in town…because we do…stuff….handcuffs…ice….watch Josie and the Pussycats (His idea) other than that nada, but Lara's my homie (one I WOULDN'T shoot, Vincent…) so you can't have her, unless you ask me and I say yes of course. On a side note, I was surprised how many of you naturally assumed I was done here. Eyes up on stage pilgrim, I'm just warming up. (Side note, the song in this chapter is Summertime preformed by Renee Olstead, an amazing singer, if you look her up on google and go to her site it will play the song, so check it out. I'll be using her music later in this story)

* * *

New York again. It had been four years since he had walked the Times like this. Mexico, L.A., and New York were the big cities; there almost always was a job to be found in those places. 

He was walking now because he was bored and he was bored because he was waiting. Waiting for a call. A call to start the clock.

Some unlucky son of a bitch's time had just run out, judging by the hefty check he had been sent merely as a down payment.

Till then he would bide his time. Maybe have a drink. Water would have to do. He never let anything interfere with his work let alone influence it.

If he remembered correctly there was a little Jazz place somewhere around here.

Ah, yes, there it was.

Paint the Town.

The middle to late night to early morning crowd hadn't even begun to slide in yet. Good.

He remembered this place now.

Nice place.

Job place.

Good food place? He couldn't remember.

As the waitress who had seated him went to supply a glass he sat silently, drumming his finger tips on the tabletop, listening to the soft strains of someone singing behind him. Swinging a look over his shoulder he caught glance of a woman dressed in a plain pinstriped suit, standing one hand on the mike, the other slapping out the rhythm on her thigh. A shapely thigh at that.

The song started out softly, a little too slow for his tastes but still some remote form of Jazz.

_Summertime an' the livin' is easy_

_Fish are jumpin' an' the cotton is high_

_Your da-addy's rich an' your mama's good lookin'_

_So-oh-oh-whoah hush littl' baby_

_Do-oh-ohn't you cry…_

The drum pounded out a harder beat.

_One o' these mornin's_

_You're gonna rise up singin'_

_Then you'll spread your littl' wings_

_An' take to the sky, take to the sky_

_But unnnn-til that mornin'_

_There's nothin' that can harm you_

_With daddy an' mammy_

_Sta-han-din' by…_

The force of the increased tempo made Vincent push his chair back just slightly as a trumpet assailed his ears. This was just about to get fun.

_Summertime_

_Yes, a time_

_I'm talkin' about Summertime_

_An' the livin'_

_Summer livin'_

_An' the livin' is so fine_

_The fish are jumpin'_

_An' the cotton is high_

_Your daddy's rich_

_He's rich_

_Your daddy's filthy rich!_

_An' your mama_

_Hot mama!_

_An' your mama's so good lookin'_

_So hush little baby_

_Don't you cry!_

This was old style. A classic. Classic? Classical, why did that ring a bell? He inspected the singer with more attention then he had before, as she finished up on a rather impressive note.

Bits and pieces came floating back. It had been winter, and the layers had covered her mostly from his view. That demandable scarf. She had had glasses before and her hair was longer, now it just reached past her back blades, and it was loose. No braid now, and there were auburn streaks buried in its thickness.

He had been right.

She had turned into something.

He loved being right.

All that was clear. The car…the kiss…the curse, 'Fuck you…' but her name escaped him.

His waitress returned, chilled ice water in tow. He stopped her before she could retreat again.

"Excuse me…" He swiftly took note of her tag, "Juli, who is that?"

The girl took a look in the direction he indicated, "That's Lara Andrews. Last night here. She just graduated. 'Bout time, too, if you ask me."

He turned to view her more carefully, "Why is that?"

The girl shrugged her shoulders, "Can't you see it? She's too good for this place. She's gonna go and do something great…she might not ever be anything big but…she's gone farther than any of us. We're not temporary…she is."

The girl stepped off the stage, embracing an older man, all smiles.

"Thank you."

With a short and perky nod, she walked away, leaving Vincent free to scrutinize the woman…yes, woman now…of prior acquaintance. She was approaching nearer now, chatting it up with the big man. Funny, he hadn't pegged her for one to go for the grandes, but then he hadn't pegged her as a classical follower either. He hadn't pegged her for a lot of things.

He could hear a bit of their conversation now, since the music had stopped. He cocked an invisible ear, and listened in.

"Thanks again, Lara."

"Hey, I told you…I have a thing for men with bad backs. I just find it so incredibly sexy."

"Married, Andrews. Sorry."

"Damn…" her fingers snapped regretfully.

"I'm going ta miss you, Andrews."

"Oh, Farley don't start in on the sweet talk…I'll never leave."

"You weren't that good of a waitress, anyway…" The man tried to cover up his caring with sarcasm.

"I'm gonna miss you too, Farley. I have to go…"

"See you around, Andrews. Thanks for comin' in one last time."

"Sure thing. Glad you liked it. Have to start putting my own spin on things if I'm gonna make a living."

"You'll do fine. Good luck."

"Thanks."

The two split ways. The woman was walking past him. This was just too good of a chance to pass up. Besides, he had time this time around. He was free to waste a few hours…why not waste them on a pretty face?

"Excuse me…" Hi hand reached out, ensnaring her wrist, stopping her from striding forward.

"Mitts off, mister." Came the sharp reply as she looked down to see who had stalled her. She stilled, eyes widening slightly.

"…Sorry…" He could feel himself smiling, "I thought you were a waitress."

Her wrist slipped from his grasp, "I was."

"Ah," he nodded, "my mistake."

She crossed her hands over her chest, looking down on him disapprovingly, "Mr. Reporter, right? Vincent?"

She remembered. He liked that. He didn't care too much for the look she was aiming at him, though. Like he owed her something.

"Yeah."

"You've got a lot of balls coming here."

A laugh escaped him. The girl he had met four years ago would have choked on that word. God, one encounter in an airport had made her fearless.

"Do I?"

"Yes. You do."

"How would you know?"

"What?" That got her attention.

"How would you know if I had balls?" He plastered an innocent expression on his face, "But then your days of virginity are long over, aren't they?"

She closed her eyes as if pained, her jaw clenched. He recalled that look, "I meant your gall, asshole, and you know it."

"Sit down." He said with a chuckle, pulling out a chair beside him from under the table.

"No."

"You mean you don't want to tell me why you're pissed off at me?" He questioned.

The temptation to shoot off her mouth at him seemed too much for the poor thing, as grudgingly admitted this was what she did indeed want by sliding the chair away from his side. She sat down across from him instead. Suit yourself, he thought.

Almost as if by accident she murmured, "Servers aren't allowed to sit with the customers."

Vincent raised a solitary brow. He could see her literally berating herself to the point of biting her own tongue until it bled.

"Still haven't grown out of your waitress role, I see." He pointed out politely, with as much mockery as one could put into that sentence without getting slapped.

Her eyes narrowed, "Don't worry, I'm working on it."

"I bet you are." He smirked, raising the glass to his lips, taking a sip.

"Did you have something you wanted to say to me?" She asked impatiently.

"No…" He swirled his water slightly as if it were a more intoxicating beverage, "…but you did, remember?"

The swirling of the drink seemed to irritate her, as she grabbed his hand forcing him to lower it. His eyes flicked dangerously to her hand. That was very brave…and very stupid. He would only take so much.

She must have felt the risk in the gesture because she snatched her hand back quickly…and wisely.

"You owe us some business."

"What kind of business did you have in mind?"

"The business you promised us four years ago. You said you would tell your clients about this place."

So that was what this was about. She had actually believed him? The very idea was laughable.

"And you believed me?"

"It would have helped," she snapped, "after what happened here…"

Vincent felt a still like calm control his bones…

"What happened here?" He probed, angling his head to one side.

"Myra, the girl you spent the evening with, was murdered in the bathroom."

"Not exactly the best thing to advertise around, is it?"

"I don't work here any longer. I'll advertise what I think you should know." She retorted sharply.

"If you don't work here," Vincent began guiding her out of the danger zone of idle conversation, "then what were you doing performing?"

"Saying hasta-la-bista baby. Farley called in a favor."

"So you're a singer?"

"I sing." She clarified, "I am not a singer."

"Then what do you do?"

He could tell he was grating on her nerves as she sighed in annoyance, giving way and answering, "Nothing yet, but I plan to compose. Are we finished here?"

"You're the one who wanted to initiate conversation." He reminded her.

"And I said what I wanted say so, I think we can say goodbye now…" She moved to get up. Oh no, he wasn't near done with her yet.

"Have a drink with me." It wasn't a request but then again it wasn't an order either. A blend. A smooth blend, not unlike himself.

"No, thanks." She responded succinctly, already collecting her purse.

"It's the least I can do for disappointing you. Let me guess…you have a thing for Cosmopolitans…"

She hesitated, turning to pin him with an inquisitive look. He shrugged his shoulders gracefully.

"I have a knack for guessing what people want."

Slowly, as if bewildered why she was consenting, she sat down again. Good girl.

"One drink." It was an acquiesce and a warning.

"Fine." He ordered for her, "One drink for one life story. What have you been up to?"

He could see her visibly lock her lips together in a tight line of displeasure.

"Come on. You'll never see me again anyway. Why not take a gamble? Live a little…improvise…"

The electric blue liquor was finally delivered and placed in front of her. She eyed it suspiciously as if she were already regretting her decision to stay and chat.

"Drink up." He raised his glass in tribute to the Drunkard's Motto, "Loosen up."

A determined look crept into her countenance, as she took up the glass and drained it dry.

That's a girl.

"What do you want to know?"

Vincent leaned forward, an almost eager curiosity lacing his features.

"Everything."

* * *

He wasn't sure just how many she had in the end but he knew they were enough to make her release her inhibitions…some of them at least. Some he didn't think could be breached in the time he was allowed, but they had made some progress. 

She was flirting.

"So, Mr. Reporter…here for business again or pleasure?"

"Business, I'm afraid."

He could have made it otherwise, if his beeper hadn't alarmed him to a more important message than the one she was trying to send him.

Taking out the little black box, he didn't need to read the scrolling green screen to know once again he had run out time. Shame, that was the second time. Oh well.

"Well, it was nice seeing you again, Miss Andrews, but I'm needed in the office. Take care of yourself." With that he exited, leaving her speechless behind him.

"What the hell?" She whispered, slamming down the napkin in her lap on the table.

* * *

All he needed was in palm pocket. Three hits. It was already done in his mind, but then the universe cocked the fuck-with-him-gun. 

"Wait!" The girl from the club hurried up to him.

For all he was concerned she was no one now. Simply someone in his way. Her expression was huffy and slightly puzzled, side effects of the drink; as she jogged over to him.

"You buy me drinks," she proclaimed as she marched forward, the air of a scorned female hanging thickly around her, "and ask me about my life…flirt with me to no end! And then you just take off? I thought this would all lead to the inevitable you-take-advantage-of-my-drunken-stupor-love-me-then-leave-me sort of scenario, and you leave me hanging? What kind of a man are you, anyway?

"A busy one." He answered shortly, "Now, I'm sorry but I have things I have to do…"

Her face contorted into a look of disgust at herself or at him, he could not decipher, "If you weren't willing, you shouldn't have invited me to sit, jackass."

And then she did something she really shouldn't have. She pushed him angrily into the car behind him. His suit rippled back…exposing the holster and gun at his hip.

Her charming little mouth dropped in shock and then shut with an audible snap.

Vincent calmly hid the weapon again within the folds of his jacket. The predatory wariness spread through him for the second time that night. He would wait and see what she did. He straightened his cuffs, as her mouth sought to work in her hazy blur of confusion, then he straightened his tie, waiting patiently.

She managed to croak one word as she took a step back; he remained still, assessing the situation by immobility.

"You."

He watched as something clicked, sparked, jumpstarted her brain. She had put two and two together.

"You…" Her voice shook slightly, and it was a moment before he realized the tone as one of fury. If she screamed he would have to kill her, and he was already late.

She turned and ran. He was already moving; he had her pinned to an SUV in a manner of seconds, one hand securing her hip as he pressed her front into the steel door, her back to his chest. The other hand restrained any sound her mouth made. Her cries vibrated his hand pleasantly. His body weight did the rest. They were lucky the hunk of metal wasn't equipped with an alarm system.

"That…" he hissed into the hollow of her ear coldly, "was not a smart move, Andrews."

* * *

Lara didn't know when it hit her…or how. By all rights and definitions of 'smashed' there was no possible way her mind should have been able to function so properly as to piece together the string of coincidences concerning the strange man from four years ago, Myra's murder, and the man she had had drinks with tonight. Even so, her brain managed it, and had delivered the message like a punch in the ribs on a silver platter. 

She knew she should be afraid, it was only natural, but under the mind numbing and stupefying influence of one too many Cosmo's, all she could feel was unrivaled anger. Anger at him.

For murdering Myra.

For being there tonight.

For the airport scene.

For making her forget her sanity and flirt with him.

For standing there silently, not a care in the world, even when he knew he was guilty of everything she blamed him for and more besides.

She ran. She didn't get very far.

"That…was not a smart move, Andrews." His voice admonished her severely.

She tried in vain to dislodge him from her, but for such a tall and lean man, he was as movable as iron. His hold was unbreakable.

"Stop that." He ordered. "You're not going anywhere."

Panting into his hand with frustration she gave up the pointless battle, slumping against the car in defeat. Her forehead would have made contact with the window if Vincent's hand hadn't still been clamped over her mouth, and used this control to slowly roll her head back to the point of resting on his shoulder.

"Now, pay attention." He murmured softly, "Your annoying curiosity just got you in a holy mess. I should deal with you now, but I have a job to do and I need a guide to take me around the city. You did a fine job of it last I was here. And you're going to do it again."

Lara mumbled a scathing remark under the barrier of his palm. One he could understand quite clearly.

"Like hell you will?"

Laboring for breath she didn't have and trying to suck her lips away from his skin, she bit back a yelp as her head was jerked back by a sharp tug; her hand instinctively latching onto his in an effort to relive the pressure.

He did nothing for a moment then a rough, prickly sensation scraped along the skin of her throat. It was a peculiarly threatening feeling…a caress of sensual ominous. She shivered lightly, hating that humans were still just animals despite eons of progress, who acted on primal basic instincts.

His lips moved against her neck, raising a fine line of goose bumps along its surface.

"Whatever it takes. I didn't want you apart of this, I work solo, but thanks to your general nuisance I don't really have a choice. I have to adapt, make some changes…we're going to play this one by ear, okay, Andrews? All you have to do is drive me to my destinations, and no one will be the wiser. Do you remember the night we first met, how my cab left me in the lot?"

Lara's mind was scrambling overtime to sort everything he was telling her into some reasonable idea of where this was going.

"After you dropped me off, I off'd the cabbie's father. And no one knew, no one noticed. Do you think anyone besides you would notice if it was your good ol' Farley this time around who was discovered in the toilet? We can make a bet, if you decide not to cooperate with me."

This was not happening, this could not be happening…

"Do you understand? Am I making this clear enough?"

Somehow Lara was able to nod her head.

"Good, that's what I wanted to hear. Now I don't want to hear anything from you. I'm going to take my hand away, and if you so much as sigh…I will kill you. Are you okay? Can you stand?"

Again Lara nodded, perplexed to tears by his hot to cold manner.

The hand was removed, and she was immediately spun around, the other arm still heavy about her waist.

"Alright then…" his eyes drifted over her fleetingly, and then settled on a figure a ways away behind her, "Is that your car?" He asked eyes narrowing in inspection.

Lara slowly turned her head. It was her car.

"Why?" She asked panicked.

"Breathe, Andrews, keep breathing for me…"

That seemed reason enough to stop breathing to her.

"We haven't even started, and we have a whole night to get through."


	4. Oppurtunity is not a lengthy visitor

Disclaimer: Vincent just popped back into my life…seemingly in time to make sure I didn't go racing after Jackson as soon as I could. He's very possessive the old boy. He's looking very put off as I said the old part. I've told him unless he knocks me unconscious I'm continuing with my Red Eye fic too, so he's just going to have to put up with that. I hope I don't let anyone down with this chapter…I know you've been waiting but I don't like putting anything out unless I'm satisfied with it and Vincent hasn't been giving me too much of the stuff…

Me: A girl's gotta get some satisfaction! I mean can you blame me….? And haven't you heard, Ripner is the new you! (Laughs) Why are you looking at me like that? Come on, knock it off you're freaking me out…

Vincent: (takes gun and knocks her unconscious, holds her neck gently to keep her from falling off the chair as he leans forward to type with one hand) Please excuse us, I need to have a little chat with miss, Sidhe here to renegotiate the terms of our contract and our roles in it. Perhaps she'd rather I slip into Jade's mind or Seraph's if she's so damned disappointed with my performance, I'm sure you ladies wouldn't be. I'm here to make sure her priorities don't…shift to …other clients.

Jackson: Ah, the old keep-her-attention-where-it-belongs-on-her-muse- ploy. Too bad I thought of it first…

Vincent: (pointing gun at him) I'll deal with you later, upstart. (Turns back to the computer screen) So, you girls wouldn't mind keeping an eye on her…make sure there is no transference or displacement…from where her thoughts should rightfully be…and stay.

* * *

Lara's mind raced without actually going any place of remote ability to lend her aid. This situation was beyond her. His grip at the crook of her elbow was close to bruising, a controlled vice at causing pain. He was holding back, a fact made clear by the tightened tendons that flashed deadly on his hand, the elegant fingers. He could be making it worse, she knew, much worse, and she was thankful.

Her steps were sluggish and somewhat misplaced on more than one occasion, because of her fear and because of the drink running rampant in her system.

None of this felt real. Not the man at her side. Not the knowledge of that man's previous dealings at the same club she had worked in for four years, or the horrible, gut wrenching feeling twisting her stomach, that she had just bought her own front row seat to see those dealings first hand.

Even the parking lot lights and those of the nearby buildings seemed a figment of the imagination.

Somehow he had directed her through the dizzying labyrinth of the parked cars in the lot to her ever trusty Honda.

"Do you have keys?"

Of course she had keys.

"Yes."

"Open the door."

Biting her lip, she peeled the chapped bits of flesh with her teeth, hoping the pain would clear her mind, bring her around…She fumbled with the keys twice, her nerves on edge. She could barely focus under the combined efforts of her sloshed state of mind and the immobilizing hold he had on her arm. She would bruise. She could tell. A big, yellow turn black, turn purple bruise. Shit.

On the third try, impatient with her fruitless attempts to get a hold of herself, Vincent ran the hand on her elbow down the length of her arm, to steady her shaking hand. Lara coughed weakly, trying to suppress the urge to just break down. One sharp thrust and the key slid in. He twisted his hand with her wrist, the key turned. Pop! The door was unlocked. Not hard at all, but for all the world Lara felt as if she had just lifted fifteen pound weights in her basement gym, or something heavier. The weight of the world, of people's lives was on riding roughshod on her shoulders tonight.

"Get in."

This was her last chance. To reason with him, beg if she had to. Because if she got in that car, if she got in that car with him now, there would be no exit sign or last warning to get her out of this. Point of no return. A clichéd term…a sappy word she hated to read in novels but now applied to her in a whole new sense. She would watch people die and would probably die herself come morning if she didn't try to talk to him now.

She turned wildly on him at the very last second, before the moment for the condemned's last request slipped through her fingers, "Please…"

His eyes took on an indulgent sheen. As if he knew what she was going to say, as if he had heard it all before, but would let her get it out of her system.

"Please, don't – don't make me apart of this….This – this – this is your thing. I'm nobody. I'm no one…please let me go…"

"No, I told you," He shook his head in that fashion, the same one he had used that night, as if her proposal was completely out of the question, "I need a guide and a driver, and you're a loose thread."

"Call a taxi…" She offered frantically.

"I could but then you'd still be within running distance of a pay phone. No, I don't think so. I'd really rather not deal with city cops tonight."

"I won't tell…I won't, I won't!" Lara stammered feverishly, "No one would believe me anyway…I'm – I'm blind stinking…drunk…Who would believe me?"

He was glancing around fugitively now, checking to see if they had an audience, how long he could allow her these protestations before it got serious, "Someone who knew who they were looking for." His hand tightened, "Now, get in the car." That was it, end of discussion, last chance had come and gone but Lara couldn't accept it. Her lips were set on repeat and she could taste the iron flavor of the blood from her lips as one word continued to tumble from her in blind desperation.

"Please…please…oh god, please…please…" A prayer.

"Are you finished?" Cold, callous…sharp. He was a razor blade and he hurt.

"Please…" She would throw up, she would weep. The bile rose, and the hot tears spilled over. Oh god, what if she couldn't stop herself. She didn't want that, anything but that. Stop me, she begged, stop me; don't let me cry in front of you. You're horrible and cruel and I don't want you to see…

A gun cocked. The sounds emitting from her throat stopped abruptly as she pulled in an achy breath. She couldn't see the offending weapon, but knew by its uncomfortable weight and pressure that he had pressed it into her side, under her ribs.

Lara hiccupped pathetically on the last whimper, gulping it down like a large pill with no water, and sniffled in humiliation. But she had stopped. Thank you. She had stopped.

How typical was it of a woman to cry when threatened? Lara felt her shame hot and heavy filling her face as she turned her head away from him. Why couldn't she be braver? Little girls resisted kidnapping and rape now with calm determination. Why couldn't she bring herself to think of something resourceful? All she could do was cower…and he hadn't done anything…yet.

Stubble at her cheek, she flinched, squeezing her eyes tight, "Get in the car now, I won't ask you again."

He didn't have to. Lara got it. The time of crying like a child had left some bad side effects, she still felt helpless but the gun had held her back from an attack. She would have lost it. The threat of doing so still lurked, but she had gathered enough of her wits not to crumple into a sobbing heap again. She obeyed…with jerky puppet like movements but she obeyed. She moved to walk around to the driver's side, but was tugged back.

"No, climb over the passenger side."

Lara stared at him blankly.

"Now."

Opening the door she stepped over the passenger seat and hand rest, to plop down numbly into the seat. Vincent ducked his head and joined her, slamming the door shut behind him.

Lara sat still, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, kept warm by her thighs. Okay, she was in the car. Maybe she could…just sit here. That would be nice.

Vincent's arm twisted behind him with a flexibility that announced an underlying threat of being able to use such abilities for something far deadlier than buckling a seatbelt.

"Do you know the Orange Blossom? It's an herbal garden in China town."

"Yes." The utterance fell like stones into a black pond, swallowed up, deposited into silence. Once, she had gone there once.

She wasn't even sure if he had heard her.

He had, "Good."

Good? How could this night yield anything close to a good? Good heavens, good god maybe but…

"Well?" His brisk tone broke her reverie. She regarded him with confusion.

"What?"

"You've been to the Orange Blossom?"

"Yes."

"Are we in a car?"

Were they? For all Lara knew they could have been in a different world, and she wouldn't have noticed. She was in a car, she was because if she weren't she would be calling the police.

"Yes."

"Then drive."

Lara's hands pulled themselves from the safety of her clenched legs, to skitter like nervous beetles along the curved length of the wheel, then dropped back down again. She turned her gaze on him, happening on a vital point of resistance.

"You'll just kill me anyway."

He regarded her seriously, "Maybe. But your life span isn't the issue here." He reminded her, his voice dropping to a chillingly mocking tone, "Isn't that Farely leaving the place now?" He indicated behind her but Lara refused to turn, to rise to his bait. He had made his point. Had clearly punctuated it, and she still couldn't bring herself to start the damn car.

Suddenly then she knew the reason for her hesitation and it was so stupid she almost started laughing. It was so stupid it could possibly save her life. Without meaning to a snicker passed her lips.

"What now?" She supposed the lethal tone was meant as a warning; instead it served as a good slap on the back and caused a hard rough like bark of laughter to fall out of her.

"Man, look at me…" Lara gestured to her apparel and the distance in her eyes, the fine tremor in her hands. His eyes glided over her like a lightly chilled wine, flowing over her every crevice, "…I'm smashed. Do you really think I'm the best person to put behind the wheel of a car?"

Surely, he could see the divine logic of this?

His eyes glanced swiftly over her a second time. He nodded, but it wasn't one of agreement.

"You'll do."

She gaped at him. He was stubborn and insane; she could really hurt them in her condition…

"You know I could kill us…"

A silvery brow rose. Lara immediately realized her mistake. Threatening him was not the best thing to do in her position.

"I'm not saying that as a threat…" She hastened to correct her blunder, "but I mean I could very well…ya know…" He stared impassively, "we could get hurt is all."

"You'll get hurt either way if you don't stop stalling and drive."

Were your emotions supposed to ricochet up and down, fluctuating wildly in times of intense fear and confusion? Lara had felt so many warring emotions in the last five minutes. Fear, terror, frustration, hope, helplessness…Pick one for god sakes, and try to think!

But she couldn't think. Thinking hurt, thinking was hard, and she couldn't think with him there…watching…Big Brothering her every move. She sighed, putting the key in the ignition, but that's where her movements took a pause.

She knew the brave thing, the right thing, would be to let him kill her. Throw off his time. Perhaps giving the cops enough time to take note and what? Go after him. Something told Lara this guy, this Vincent was a professional. And professionals never got caught. No, and bad as it was, Lara couldn't help being addicted to living, to the thought of survival. That thought pulled stronger than the pull of her conscience. He's going to kill people, and you'll watch, and there'll be nothing, nothing you can do. Could she live with that? The knowledge that she had been powerless to stop it?

She was brought out of her fevered musings by a firmly terrifying squeeze on her knee. Her leg spasmed, as Lara glanced down sharply to find Vincent's hand tightly clasped to her striped suit pants.

He had taken her reluctance for worry, "Just do your best."

And then he smiled. Only it wasn't a smile. It was dark and sinister. The farthest thing from a smile Lara had ever seen. Feral. Frightening. Her leg grew unaccustomedly warm from the contact, and some white blade sharp heat dug into her skin when his nail scratched a few threads on thesoft material.

Prying his hand off, she all but flung it away from her with a curl of her lips, knowing the feeling from the airport years before, and afraid of similar consequences taking place.

"You can't expect me to drive like that. Keep your hands to yourself, okay?"

"Drive." He pointed to the road.

"I'm driving."

And she was. Other than some mild swerving and blurred vision, Lara wasn't showing any other signs of reasonable drunken behavior. Damn, now she didn't have a reason to get them into a ten car pileup. Stop this night…

"What if I get pulled over?" She asked anxiously.

"Don't." His answer was short and harsh like a tact, "You don't want that."

"No. I guess I don't."

That was the last thing said for a while. Lara was all for ignoring the situation completely, pretending someone wasn't sliding material glances over her. Women's intuition should have clued her in earlier, before the scene in the parking lot. It had but she had ignored it just as she was ignoring him now. He had been dangerously attractive and exciting and she had liked it, flirting…she had been dumb. Just like mommy taught you, don't talk to strangers, don't take candy from strange men…Don't accept a drink from strange man and then end up in a car with a gun to your head. She had learned all this in primary school. So why hadn't she remembered those important lessons?

Stupid, stupid Lara.

There had to be a way out of this. Life gave people opportunities everyday, why not for Lara? She thought she was entitled to some extra benefits from the over power seeing as she was in greater need of it now than all the rest of the city combined. Of course there would be opportunities. The problem was finding one, latching on, and running with it. Running far away from here with it, preferably someplace where they had sirens and flashing lights. Until that time however…

Lara snuck another sideways glance at her side passenger.

She'd have to play nice, play willing, play victim. And that was not an appeasing role to Lara Andrews.

God, when she had left the club all she had wanted was a hot bath and eight hours of sleep. That wasn't an option anymore. She doubted even her usual remedies for calm would work at a time like this. Forget a bath, she needed Bach.

She'd give anything to listen to her soundtracks right about now and block all thought of the hit man from her mind, but he had other ideas it seemed. Apparently he wanted some sample of poor conversation.

"You're a quiet one, aren't you?"

Lara tightened her jaw. If she could just get Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata going in her inner ear she'd be fine. But something about his voice drilled in, demanding recognition.

"What, you don't like to talk? I thought all women liked to talk."

She would refuse to respond, she wouldn't be moved, she was a stone wall….

"But you don't, do you?"

She was a stone wall, impenetrable…

"Still think you're in control, Andrews? You think that by being silent you have some hand on the situation, but I'm here to tell you, your silence just proves your submission. Your supplication. By not saying a word you give me what I want…a mute accomplice. It's a trait that should be taught to all women, maybe then their boyfriends wouldn't dump them… You got a boyfriend yet, Andrews?"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Lara took the next right a little sharply, breathing hard. Hating that he had nettled her…

"Easy. Easy, Andrews. Don't call attention to yourself."

Lara controlled the car again.

"So…not a talker." He concluded.

Lara felt like screaming. She'd have to talk; she couldn't stand hearing what he said. At least this way she could argue with the points he made, keep them away from getting too true in their analysis.

"No, I'm not. Besides you said you'd kill me if I so much as sneezed. So I figured I better do as you say."

He made some murmur of false gratitude and appreciation that didn't promote sincerity, "You're very obliging."

"You have a gun." Lara reminded him coldly, "You thought I'd rebel?"

"You ran." He pointed out.

Lara swung a glance at him, only briefly, "It's what cowards do, isn't it."

There was a pause.

"That wasn't cowardice."

"What was it then?" Lara snapped.

"Survival instinct. Fight or flight. You've heard of it."

His arrogant tone, his know all disposition, "Yes, I've heard of it!"

"Lower your voice."

"As if anyone could hear me." She snorted, weaving her way through the streets.

"I can hear you, that's reason enough. Take a right here."

Lara complied turning the car into the flashy side road welcoming them into the mystic east of China Town.

The Orange Blossom was a small family run nursery of foreign and exotic flowers and shrubs. Mostly for people into Feung Shui and rooftop herbal gardens and such. The last time Lara had been here her boyfriend, David, had bought her a zebra orchid. Wild flower, wild thing…Wild night, much like this one was turning out to be. Only on that night she knew she would go home sooner or later. Now…home seemed about as far away as the dawn.

"Take the back entrance…right there on the left."

She steered the Honda into a back alley of inky darkness. A few garbage cans were huddled near the exit of the hot house and its outside grounds. She cut the engine and it died with a flash of the silent head lights.

A cat yowled somewhere above them, making Lara jump slightly at the jarring sound. She very nearly crawled out of her skin when Vincent suddenly surged forward…

And took the keys.

"Ten and two." He murmured, turning to her.

She shook her head not comprehending his words, "I'm sorry I…"

"Ever take drivers Ed, Andrews? Middle High, High School?"

Lara gulped, "Yes."

"They taught you how to drive with your hands at ten and two, didn't they? How drive a car properly. You've been slacking, but let's see if we can make up for lost time." He smiled grimly, and indicated with his head, "Ten and two."

He hands twitched, lifted, and lightly brushed the wheel timidly.

Reaching into his pocket he extracted two white transparent cords. The smell of plastic assailed her nose. With a snap and a few clicks the bond had tightened on her right wrist, pinning her hand to the wheel.

These things…She had seen these kind of things before, usually attached to shoes to make sure they weren't separated or stolen.

The second restriction strapped into place, pinching her skin. Lara grimaced

It was a precaution. She was like shoes. Too costly to be stolen, to lose. Safety measures were being taken to ensure there was no possibility of separation.

"Wait here."

She shot a glance that could burn. Where would she go? He had made certain she couldn't move from this spot! Ignoring him was her only salvation, her only sanity. He was cellophane, he was insubstantial…

He was brushing back a lock of her hair. Lara jerked away to the side, nearly cracking her head on the glass of the window to avoid his touch. The wavy tendril that had bourn the outlining caress of his finger tingled all the way to her scalp, where it prickled her uncomfortably.

She thought he might have smiled, that grotesquely inhumane smile, again but she couldn't be sure. She wouldn't look at him. She flexed her wrists instead, the blood already blocked off to her ever increasingly blue hands.

He took note of it, shrugging off the seat belt and popping open the door with a 'whoosh' that filled and permeated the interior of the car with the smells of the nursery. Intense Gardenia, soft Jasmine, brilliant Oleander, and the dry heat of Lemon Grass all mingled and mixed reminding Lara of a freedom she didn't have.

"I'll be back before the circulation is cut off entirely."

A slam of the car door, and he was gone, melting into the musky dark of the alleyway.

She moved. Pulled, stretched, fought. The shoe restraints held firm; Vincent's stand-ins. She tugged against them. If she couldn't fight him physically, she'd fight his representatives. Writhing in their hold, she wiggled until she could brace her feet on the lower part of the dash and use the force to pull on the ties. It was painful. Another few heartfelt jerks like this and she could take her arms out of her sockets, and probably would if she kept this up.

Groaning in defeat, she let her feet slip to the bottom of the car again. Frustrated with her own impotence, she kicked the under part of the dash. The force of the impact shook her half way open sunscreen mirror, out. It was cracked, spider like threads etched across the glass like some abstract artwork.

She had meant to fix it months ago after the argument she and David had had in the car, when he threw a full unopened beer can at her and missed. He'd been drunk, which he always was when he had another girl on the side. Sayonara Davie, go join the navy, and screw every girl at every port from here to Guam, I am sick of cleaning up your messes. Only in so many words. She had meant to fix the mirror but now…

Her distorted image stared back at her, broken, beaten.

Glass, sharp…tough…a weapon.

Lara kicked again. The mirror shook. Again she pulled her leg back and released it.

Wobbled, shook…

She was going to get her hands on that glass even if she had to break the car in the process. She used both feet this time and thinking of Valkeries and Norse warriors, she grunted her frustration and struck out.

It swayed, it fell. Broke into pieces. A medium good sized shard, gleaming on the part of the wheel connected to the dash, glinted the feverish look in her eyes. Close enough to reach, to touch. The tips of her fingers were clammy with the perspiration of her tireless work, and the slick sweat was an ideal sticky substance for the dry glass. Her fingers lightly prodded, the glass stuck, nicked her fingers…but it was hers. It's razor sharp edge digging into her, bringing out blood…

It took her a few minutes to situate the shard in just the right place to scrape the plastic. It hurt, but the pain just told her it was working. She worked fast, knowing any moment Vincent might return…and he would be mad it he found her like this. Lara was determined he wouldn't find her at all. She pressed harder on the plastic binding. If she wasn't careful she'd slit her wrists. But that was a risk she'd just have to take.

She sawed away.

And then her cell in the cup holder rang.

And rang.

The glowing screen on its surface read, "David."

And then three shots cracked against the night. Just three that nearly cause her to drop the glass, but she held tight, cutting deeper. She bled. She didn't care. The phone continued to ring. She didn't care.

Because it was only a matter of time.


	5. A Bit of Fun

Disclaimer: I do not own Collateral or Vincent, any character unheard of belongs to me…unless I borrow them from someone else (with their permission of course or to pay homage with). Another disclaimer is what will follow is known as a 'tangent' or a 'digression' of topic, but it should be entertaining none the less. Next chapter's the real one, but this plot bunny here's been a hoppin' and I couldn't help myself...So, let's get started.

* * *

Leanan Sidhe cautiously peeked her head out from the closet of which she had so cleverly hidden herself. Seeing no sign of the one she was avoiding, with a relieved sigh she stepped out and made her way toward the kitchen, glancing back slightly over her shoulder just in case she was being followed. Her head should have been positioned in the other direction because, chuckling quietly, she walked smack dab into the one person she really didn't want to see at the moment.

"Fuck, Vincent! You scared me!" She yelped accusingly.

Staring coldly down at her, the hit man muse, gave her the third degree, "What are you doing out of the computer room, Sid? Aren't you supposed to be updating Andrews little piece?" A small amount of suspicious was laced through his inquiry.

"Just getting a snack." Leanan replied nimbly trying to dodge around the question, "Is that a problem Mr.-knocks-me-out-cold-when-he's-threatened-by-someone-half-his-age-and-twice-as-gorgeous?"

Vincent blocked the entire doorway now into the panty, growling low, "You had it coming."

Not one to be hounded by an (all too solid and intimidatingly sensual) muse, Lee moved purposefully forward, in an undeniable confrontation stance, "And you're asking for it. Now, move your murdering ass and let me go get some munchies or I swear to god I'll never write another word."

Pushing himself off of the door frame, he began that all too calm walk she knew well, toward her, "I could just make you." He murmured.

"Not without your gun you couldn't." Lee pointedly reminded him, as he advanced, backing only a little in response, "You know the rules."

His smile was the warning sign, "When have you ever known me to follow them? Besides, every rule has a loophole. Basic logic."

"Not my rules…" Lee snarled as her back hit the wall, furious with him, he knew she hated being backed into corners. He always did it.

"Everybody's rules, Sid. Even yours."

She pushed against his chest, but he caught her hands and forced them to her sides.

"Especially yours."

"I'm going to beat the shit out of you, if you don't let me go, Vincent." She warned him.

"The day you beat the shit out of me, I'll let you go." He taunted her.

"You're pushing it…" Lee spat, irritated by his proximity. Too close for comfort or too comfortably close, she couldn't at this point in time decide which, "Now come on, off. I have work to do."

Shoving with all her might she budged him and grudgingly the hit man backed off. Lee straightened her shirt, which had gotten bunched up in the encounter.

"Jack never has to demand things," she muttered, "He has the confidence to wait."

She knew it was the wrong thing to say the moment her back hit the wall again, this time with such violence it jolted the breath out of her. She gasped in shock at the bruising hold Vincent had a hold of her. His eyes were steely, but focused which usually meant he was dangerously close to snapping her neck.

"I'm warning you, Author…" Lee shivered, he only used that name when he was all but going to murder her, something he'd threatened her with on several occasions, "I will make your life miserable if I find out you're bringing in that Ripper character again…"

"Ripner…" Lee corrected him in a whisper.

"Shut up." He silenced her with another jerk against the wall squeezing her of all breath, "I'll do worse than that if I find out that you're sneaking him in on the side when you should be strenuously devoting yourself to mine and Lara's story. Got it?"

He sure knew how to increase the heart rate, that was for damn sure…but in the process it only increased her annoyance…among other things… "Fact check, Vinny…" She sneered using HIS hated nickname, as she pried his hands off her arms.

"One: The last time I looked Veronica was your daughter, not me, so stop playing daddy. Two: Lara needs a break from you. You're practically running her into the ground…"

"Other way around…" Vincent smirked.

"You wish. And three: It's just a freaking snack. Chill and wait in the computer room for me. I'll be there in a second. Go, shoo!" She ordered, pushing him toward the work room where they did most of their collaborations.

"I don't trust you."

"Ditto, Muse. Now do you want anything to drink?"

"Water." He ground out, heading for his work station, "You know I don't drink when I work."

Rolling her eyes after the temperamental muse, Lee stalked into the kitchen and began mocking his words with cruel precision, "You know I don't drink when I work…Stupid smug son of a bitch bastard!" Opening a cabinet without any intention in mind, she turned suddenly eyeing the fridge in the corner, "I remember…I have something chilling in the freezer…"

Walking over to the door of the ice box Lee opened it, a moment later a wicked smile blossomed on her face, "I thought so…"

A slim, long elegant fingered hand snaked around her waist out of the cold depths, nearly dragging her into the stainless steel container as well.

"Chilling, hmmmn? Clever one, Sid." A voice purred. "This is new…" The soft hum of a voice mused from the fridge, "We've never used the ice-box as a rendezvous spot before."

"Don't know why not." She grinned, feeling the other long limbed arm curl around her middle. He stepped out. Caribbean blue eyes. Striking eyes.

"Poetic. Fitting." He murmured close to her neck, pushing the door to the freezer closed with his foot. "A little frigid…"

"That's the idea."

"Ah, I see. Cold storage. I get it…to keep me fresh in your mind until the tyrant releases you."

Lee looked off into the direction where Vincent had disappeared, sighing, "He's being particularly possessive lately…

"Little Becky still needs to grow up. There is a time limit, Sid; I hate to remind you…" Jack Ripner admonished severely.

"I know, I know, but…it's Vincent. He's being a royal pain in the ass…and these secret meetings of ours are getting harder and harder to orchestrate as it is…"

Pinning her with a hypnotizing stare, Jack asked her point blank, "Have you brought up the matter of the sequel? Your ideas concerning…"

"I don't think now's the right time. He's pretty sour…I don't think he'd go for it now…"

"Lee, we need to go over your interpretation in this one scene, it's complete bullsh…"

Lee felt her heart stop, just stop as Vincent walked into the room.

"Oh crap…" She moaned going slack in Ripner's wonderful hold.

He just stood there, blinked back fire from his gaze and stormed out. Lee tore from Jack's grasp, running after Vincent before he did anything stupid like deleting the entire story from entirely. Ripner followed at a slower pace, smirking widely.

Lee reached the room just in time to see the oddest thing her eyes had ever beheld in all her years. Vincent wasn't deleting anything, nor was he breaking anything…he was actually pulling someone from the computer screen.

"Get the fuck off me, asshole!" A feminine voice bellowed, as he hauled her from the cyber window. Standing in full sight of the stricken author, Lee could now see clearly who it was.

"Oh my god! Jade!" She made a move to rescue the fellow writer but a foot away Vincent pulled out his gun, leveling it right at her chest. Lee slowed to a halt in disbelief.

"No. You're not allowed to have that. You're not! It was part of the contract we wrote up, you sneaky cretin piece of filth!"

"Contract's null and void, Author, if you go back on your agreement, which you did. Which gives me the freedom to use all my assets any way I choose. Now step back. That's a good girl…"

Fuming, Lee backed up as the other writer recognized the silver fox holding her in check, "Shit…" Jade murmured, "Is this because I haven't written you that fic I was promising to do?"

"Quiet." He bit out, whirling her around so that all in the room (Ripner included, who was looking at it all in mild amusement) could see the weapon prominently placed under her chin.

"Now, hold up there, partner…" Lee coaxed eyes growing wide, "Don't kill her just cause you're pissed at me. She's one of your army of sparse few good Collateral writers out there. Don't do anything rash…"

With the legendary animal like grin she had described so often, Lee watched as he twisted his lips in a smirk, "Rash…" he murmured a second before crushing his mouth to Jades.

He had thought by provoking her own jealousy he would win this? He was an idiot, and she was one because she could feel his plan working. Fine, he wanted to play dirty? She marched over to the computer, Vincent was watching her every move through hawk eyes, over Jade's shoulder. Reaching the desktop, Lee bent savagely and grabbed a hold of the main plug, tugging it a little. The screen with the next chapter's finished words, flickered warningly.

Vincent broke away from Jade, but keeping a firm hand of her as she started cursing up a storm at him for getting so fresh at a moment like that, and why couldn't he have done that when he visited her a week ago…

"You wouldn't." Vincent narrowed his eyes, those eyes to slits.

"Fucking try me, sucka." Lee growled, poised for another tug.

She could hear the deadly sound of his teeth grinding behind his lips, "Alright, Author…"

Lee didn't have time to blink before he had pushed Jade, propelling her into a surprised Ripner's arms, and had caught a hold of her arm. He threw open the closet door she had been hiding in originally. The dark and the certainty of what awaited her in that black made her shake, as Vincent forced her in, "We finish this now."

"Bastard…!"

Whatever else she said was muffled by the door closing behind them…locking with a tell tale click.

Spades Jade looked up at Ripner, whose chest she was sprawled against now, "Hi."

"Hi."

"I'm Jade."

"Jackson."

"I know…so..when do you think they'll be out?"

"Don't know. We're probably in for a long wait."

"Probably right."

Righting her, Jackson went and pulled the plug on the computer. The screen faded to black with a beeeeeeeeeoooooooooop. "Give them some time…So, Jade…when are you going to right that Red Eye fic of yours?"


	6. The ExTra Attention

Disclaimer: Yes, this is actually a chapter. I don't own nada except for Lara and Farely and others to which you have no claim….so I'm not much one for long beginnings so let's get crackin'!

* * *

He hadn't known why he had felt the need to touch her in the car until after the oriental biddy had received one in the head and two in the chest, and was surveying the scene dispassionately.

He had had her attention. Undivided. Like that night years before and just as she did then, she had suddenly shut him out. Ignored him. He hated being ignored, the only reason being that ignorant people were dumb, and dumb wasn't what he needed from her right now. He needed focused. He needed afraid.

Fear was the ultimate bind, the perfect control. Afraid meant she wouldn't do anything stupid. Stupid was a wildcard in a rigged game. His game and he did not particularly like the idea of some amateur ruining his hand just because of some beginners luck.

Besides, luck was an ancient myth in this century. The only thing that mattered here was power.

Her closing off her body to him was the first warning sign that stupid was a mere mistake away. Best to nip the thing in the bud. She had needed something to bring her around again, bring her back to the situation at hand.

So he had pulled a strand of her hair away from her eyes…eye contact was essential when establishing who was in charge. She had to know who called the shots…

Like the three he had just used on the gardener. Oriental place and she still grew roses, he thought with amusement. Catering to the American appetite…

The blood would be indistinguishable from the red petals come morning. Only the body would serve as evidence. The scent of decay was cloying the dark soil and the humid air. The job was done.

He straightened his suit and walked out. He had never liked gardens.

He exited the way he entered, by those trash bins. He could even see the girl in the car, her unbound streaked head bent over the wheel in what looked like exhaustion. Slowing, he squinted his eyes. Something about this picture was wrong, some minute detail was off. He had it immediately. Her mirror screen was down.

A dog barked twice, breaking the silence of the empty streets, and her head popped up with a bounce of her wavy locks. One would have thought she had fallen asleep, save for the blind terror in her gaze he noted as she spotted him.

He was already a blur of grey in the lamplight's yellowed haze, nearly ripping the car door off its hinges.

She shrieked, even as he wrestled for her arms, and brought the leg on her right out, to kick at his midsection, stiletto heel seeking to puncture flesh and keep him at bay. Grunting, he fought against her as she tried to gain the upper hand. It was only after he placed the ringing sound he heard as coming from the inside the car that he realized her hand was free. Fucking free! A hand grabbed a cell in the cup holder…

"David, call the police…!"

His hand locked around her knee, using the limb to hoist himself closer, nearly on top of her.

"NO!" She bellowed, her whole body attempting to buck him off, but he held on. He struggled with her free hand that held the cell; the other gripped something that flashed in the light. Something dangerous. He grunted as he pried the phone from her grip, which was slick with something dark and sticky. In return she dug something into his knuckles and he pulled back with a hiss, but he had succeeded in ripping the cell out of her hand. Flipping it closed faster than the eye could follow and tossing it in the back, he returned his attention to battling the woman in the driver's seat.

He tried to reach for her again and had to dodge her slash like movements. The ragged edge of her weapon, whatever it was, snagged on the fabric of his coat, tearing it.

She looked absolutely wild, and he knew having seen that primal panic so many times before, she wouldn't let go of her weapon anytime soon. Not unless he did something.

His hand found her throat and tightly constricted about it, relishing in her harsh gasp of surprise, as she floundered. That second's shock was all he needed to apply his thumb to the palm of the hand that held the glass, digging into her nerves. Her mouth opened in a silent howl and he knew she was in pain, but it had been her own doing. Her hand trembled under the intense pressure, but she still would not relinquish her stubborn hold on the shard. She was still fighting.

He had to admit it was impressive. Counting as of now, she had less than ten seconds before her tolerance of the lack of air to her lungs was pushed past its endurance point. And still she held on. Incredible. He wouldn't rush however; such refusal of defeat in the face of death deserved some of his respect. So he waited…listening to her wheezes, holding her body still with his as she jerked against him.

Three, two, one…

Her fingers opened and the glass fell from her bloodied hand, as she frantically tore at his hand at her throat. There wasn't really any need anymore. He had dropped his hold the second she had crumpled. Her hand still held crushingly to his as she drew air into her beaten body.

Her first breath broke the surface of her lips like an explosion. Her lungs expanded within her, making her chest lift and push against his. Sweat rolled down from her hairline, glistening soft on her skin…like the idea of Venus birthed from the sea. Breathing new air, new life with abandon…blinking against the glare. Newborn, afraid, weak…

Things were back on track then. No more Viking warmonger, no more backstreet fighter. Just plain old Lara Andrews, ex-waitress turned personal chauffeur, having a bad night. This was someone he could threaten easily.

With a flick of the wrist and a deadly whisper of steel, his switch was under her chin, drawing just the slightest red line on her pale neck.

She made some sort of small sound, her voice wouldn't be completely back yet, so he knew he could speak and be heard.

"What did you think you would do, Andrews? What did you think would happen?" He took in the shattered mirror, the reflective glass littering the floor of the vehicle, and her free hand slick with her own blood, "That you'd just slice through those things and everything would be fine? You'd call the police and the bad guy would be locked away? Wake up, Andrews; this is not some bad dream due to some late night ice-cream binge. This is happening…and it's happening to you. The sooner you get that, the sooner I get my job done and the sooner it all comes to an end. I'd have thought you'd want that."

He couldn't see her eyes, because the blade of the switch kept her head tilted back, an angle which only enhanced her bold attempt to speak as she gulped against the blade.

"Except for the fact when it comes to an end, I do too. I'm not stupid."

"No, you're not, Andrews. A stupid girl wouldn't have found a way out of those restraints using a piece of glass from a makeup mirror." He nodded, confirming her claim, "Very smart. But for someone so clever, you sure do try to pull a lot of dumb tricks."

At these words all the tension left her, and she suddenly went slack in his grip, only making him clutch her harder. She angled her head to the farthest point she could without forcing the switch any closer. "I had to do something."

"Your kind always does. Doesn't help though." He took the blade away, his legs twining deeper amongst her own long limbs.

"I had to try…"

He pinned her with a look, then shook his head, "No, you didn't." He reached out and slipped the blade under the second plastic wire that attached her to the wheel, "You didn't have to do anything." One swift movement and she was free, but unable to move as his weight continued to hold her to the spot. "You made a choice, and it didn't work. Now you have to take responsibility for the repercussions of your action." He pocketed the switch with ease. "Who did you call?"

He eyes widened marginally, the only indication she had any idea of what he meant by the question, other than the faint shudder that crawled along her huddled form.

"I didn't call anyone." His eyes hardened, "Please, get off me."

Vincent wasn't going to be deterred from his appointed path, "Then who called you?" He posed differently, ignoring her plea.

He had caught her lie and she knew it. He saw the defiant gleam in her eyes, the determined tightness of her lips as she shook her head stubbornly.

"Don't make this difficult, Andrews. Who did you send the S.O.S. out to?"

"I said get off me." She growled, trying to wiggle out from her position.

He didn't have time for this. His hand wrapped around the back of her neck, twisting into her thick mane of streaked hair, pulling…She let out a squeak of pain, but bit her lip before anymore cries spilled out. Still fighting for control, he mused, amazing…she was lasting longer than most, and for that he gave her hair another vicious jerk. A sharp groan bloomed from her throat but she didn't scream, he was somewhat disappointed.

"Don't start acting brave again. It's done nothing but bring you trouble all night and you don't need any more. Who was it?" He wedged his leg deeper in between her own.

"Get off!" She demanded again, pushing against him wildly in discomfort.

He saw his advantage in this, and took it, slithering his leg down the length of hers, "Tell me who called and I will."

Her eyes darted, "Get off me and I'll tell you."

It seemed agreeable to him. He could easily have her back in her original position should she decide to get sassy. He released her hair and pulled back slightly, enough to let her fully sit up.

He waited as she tenderly touched the back of her head. Wincing, she turned to regard him.

"Who was on the phone, Andrews?"

She licked her lips with a grimace, "Your mother… and she told me to tell you, 'Go to hell you rotten son of a bitc…."

It was a surprise even to him to find her face smashed against the leather wheel of the car. That had been unexpected. He hadn't known he could lose control like that…he hadn't for a very long time.

"Careful…" He ground out, pressing her cheek deeper into the Honda insignia on the wheel, "I would be very careful right now if I were you, Andrews. This is no time to piss me off. I suggest you tell me who you spoke to now."

She tried to shake her head in refusal, but it barely budged from the pressure he applied with his hands, "Come on…" He coaxed, "Last chance, Andrews…before things get messy…"

They could have in that silent moment, if the cell phone resting on the backseat, hadn't rung to life.

* * *

"Come on…"

Lara cringed from that deceiving softness of tone. A terrifying lie, trying to calm her down. Fuck that, she was not giving up her anger or her caution.

"Last chance, Andrews…before things get messy…"

She shuddered at the way it sounded from him, like someone saying, "For old time's sake…"

No. No. Never. No. Not for now, not for old time's sake. Not for you. Not ever. She was adamant. He'd have to kill her. He'd have to…

And then the cell gave itself away in the back. Vincent's head snapped to the side. She could see the blue green fluorescent glow cast his features in an alien light. Saw the animal triumph in the depths of his mirror eyes. She could tell he was going to make a grab for it and to do so he'd have to stretch. Her mind worked on hyper drive in a matter of seconds. It was all she had.

To stretch he'd have to lift some pressure off her skull. With one powerful wrench she could be free for a second and a second only. He was fast; he'd get a hold of her after that. So the question was: Go for the phone or try and get out of the car?

He was already making his move. He went for the cell.

The pressure lifted only slightly, barely even minuscule in measurement. Lara decided then. She twisted her head from underneath his hands and dove for the door handle.

She had it popped open. She could smell night air instead of stale car seats. Then she was being violently jerked back by the opening of her suit jacket, the rough movement tearing two of the top buttons from the fabric. A hand fisted into the cloth, hauling her deeper within the recesses of the car, the other hand held a ringing phone.

Another vicious tug and she found herself closer than she'd ever been to him.

Vincent's breathing was slightly irregular as he huffed, "Good work, Andrews. You almost made it out of the car that time…"

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…

"…but you really need to close that door again…" His hand still gripping her suit front, he leaned her back just enough so she could pull the door shut again. Lara grunted the second she was done, as she was hauled swiftly back to slam against his chest, "…and tell me who David is." He waved the cell as if taunting her, the familiar name scrolled across the screen as if mocking her too.

"A friend." She didn't want to have to give specifics unless there was no other choice.

"Just any old friend or a special friend?" He inquired. She didn't answer. He shook her for a good measure.

"Special." She forced out through gritted teeth.

He looked down at the cell in his grip with a calculating glare, then returned his eyes to her face.

"As in boyfriend special?"

"No." She bit out.

Another shake.

"Ex!" She clarified.

He took another sharp glance at the cell still shrieking its high pitched tones, and now vibrating impatiently in his hand, "What'll this 'Ex' do if you don't pick up."

The answer to that was simple. "Keep calling."

Flipping the cell open in mid-ring with a look of extreme annoyance at her, he snapped, "Who the fuck is this?"

The volume was up high enough for Lara to hear every word.

"What?..."

God, she had never been so happy to hear David's voice.

"I'm Dave. Who the fuck are you? And what are you doing with Lara's phone?"

"She's busy. We're fucking. Now fuck off…"

Lara gasped as she had certainly never "fucked" anyone in her entire life. Not even David!

"Whoah! Hey!" She heard David bellow in shock.

"Yes?" Vincent answered coolly.

"I seriously doubt that you would be answering the cell if you were…"

Lara wanted to pump her fist in the air for David's quick and simple reasoning. She was sorely tempted to.

"Let me speak to Lara, or I call the cops. Something doesn't feel right."

"They won't find anything but a steamed up car. Now get lost." Vincent snapped.

Lara had never been so embarrassed in her life. She could not imagine a worse scenario than a sociopathic hit man discussing her love life with her ex in vivid graphic detail.

"Listen buddy, Lara just answered the phone and told me to call the cops." Vincent scowled darkly then, shooting her such a look of malcontent and irritation so hard, her dreadful blush was instantly overtaken by a terrified-white-as-milk contortion of her face.

"I distinctly recall her saying, 'David, I'll call the cops'." Vincent played the lie off casually, "You guys had a bad break up or so I hear. I don't think she wants to speak with you right now."

It was impossible he could know that, how their final row had gone. The windows broken, the swipes taken, the cruel things said. But Lara was starting to realize this man who sat next to her could discern anything, any emotion, any inner thought with no more than a glance. And even if he couldn't, anything he said would sound like the truth, anyway. That was the power of his voice…of his confidence and skill.

David's voice was more subdued when he finally replied, "All the same…I want to speak with Lara. We have some things to talk about."

"Hold." Vincent responded succinctly.

"Dick Head." Lara heard Dave mutter viciously, before Vincent covered the receiver with a hand.

"That was a mistake, Andrews. You bring him into this and he dies. Now fix it," he ordered coolly, releasing her suit. It was badly wrinkled now, she smoothed it down, "…or I will."

Lara nodded taking his threat to heart, feeling slightly ill that there seemed to be no way around him; knowing all her plans so far had backfired in the worst possible ways and there was nothing she could do but to comply.

"And Andrews…" The tone demanded her attention. She focused her eyes on his.

"…watch it."

She nodded again and reached for the phone.

"I don't think so." He murmured, "Just put your ear to it."

Lara did so, "David?" She ventured.

"Jesus, Lara!" She braced herself from crying at the relieved curse from his end of the line, "Are you alright?"

No. She was miles away from alright, but she couldn't say so, not with Vincent's eyes boring through her shielding veil of hair even as she spoke.

"Lara?"

She snapped herself out of the unnerving effects of the hit man's intensified gaze, scrutinizing her every twitch. How could she say things were bad without him catching on?

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"You sure?" He didn't sound quite convinced.

Lara's mind was in turmoil. How to say what she couldn't? Suddenly, as if struck by the very arrow of genius, a glimmer of an idea popped into her head.

"Yeah, just SSDD." She smiled faintly at the memory of the phrase brought back and the hope it instilled in her. There was a chance that he might guess, might remember what it meant.

It had been the very first day they had met. Some professor had made her furious by giving her term paper a C-, something that was unheard of and ticked her off to no end, seeing as how she would be graduating in under a year and was so close to having without so much as a B to her files during her time at school.

She had been throwing rocks (pebbles really) at the building where her professor, the male chauvinist pig, was housed. The shatter of glass surprised her. She hadn't actually meant to break anything. She had made to run when suddenly a neighboring window slammed up, and a head popped out.

"What the hell are you doing?"

It was a guy. Good-looking, too.

"Sorry!" She had yelled, "It was an accident, I swear!"

But he had just leaned further out, a huge smile on his face.

"No prob; I needed a study break. So, why you throwing rocks at three in the morning may I ask? Something wrong?"

She had shuffled her feet, "Nah. Same shit different day…you know the drill…"

"SSDD? No way, you're a King fan too?" He asked animatedly.

"Are you kidding? I love his work. I'm devoted!"

"I'm obsessed!" He volleyed back.

Lara must have laughed a little too loudly at that, because just then a light below had flicked on.

"I'd better go before I wake up the rest of your house…"

"Fuck them. What's your name?"

"Lara."

His smile was wonderful and breathtaking, "I'm David. And I'll see you tomorrow, Lara."

Another light flicked on.

"Okay," She had chuckled at the time, not thinking him serious but delighted all the same by his charm. She had run across the green then to her own house, his smile still lingering on her like a visible light.

They were a couple then and whenever one of them had had a killer class or a bad day they always would say:

"You alright?"

"Yeah, just SSDD, ya know?"

"Yeah, I know."

Lara prayed with every fiber of her being that even after three, close to four months time of being apart, he'd at least remember this crucial thing.

But just like David, or what she'd come to know David as over the past year, there was a brief flash of hope and then a big let down.

"Yeah, just SSDD."

"Tell me about it!" He exclaimed, "You still have my cds. That's why I called. When are you gonna hand them over?"

Lara was so shocked, she couldn't believe it. She just couldn't wrap her mind around it! Couldn't believe how self involved he was that he couldn't even see the hint in her words, or how stupid she was for attempting to rely on him doing this one simple thing! Her anger at everything that had happened so far ran hot and over any and all reason she had left. She didn't care that a contract killer was next to her, she didn't care she had lost her cool. She only cared that once again David had let her down.

"For the last goddamn time, David, that's MY Rocky Horror two cd set, and you KNOW IT!"

The raised volume of her voice led to the phone being taken away. Lara was so furious she didn't care about that either. So what if the phone was gone? The person on the other end had helped like a fat load of hot nothing. She remembered all over again the well founded reasons she'd had for dumping David in the first place.

"Is there a problem?" She heard Vincent's smooth voice glide over the loud tirade David had been in the midsts of after her reply. She could still hear him clearly.

"No! And who are you? Her new asshole, dipshit boyfriend?"

Lara's blood roared in her ears, "You bastard…!" She had managed to cry before Vincent's firm hand stoppered up the bellow; muffling it into a smothered hum of a scream. He spared her a glance and as odd as it seemed, she read the expression as one that said, 'Let me handle this.' The look so took her off guard she quieted, a morbid curiosity at what he was thinking of doing freezing her vocal chords. What would happen? What was he going to say?

"As a matter of fact, I am."

Lara blinked. She certainly hadn't expected that.

She heard David's derisive chuckle in response, "Well, just a piece of advice. Watch out for your balls, man. She'll tease you within an inch of a boner," Lara shouted a yell of rage against Vincent's palm at such an insinuation, "…and never open her pristine legs in a million fucking years!"

Vincent was disquietingly calm when he answered to this, his eyes latching onto Lara's in a very peculiar fashion, as if he were entirely serious.

"Really? Funny. I haven't found that to be true."

Lara's mouth went instantly dry. His eyes never releasing hers he continued, "Now, I'm sorry but you did interrupt us at a very inconvenient moment, so…goodnight Dave."

There was a moment's incredulous silence on David's end of the line, and then he erupted with a curse, "Fuck you and that bitch!"

Dial tone.

With a graceful flick, Vincent shut the cell it went silent. Its glow showing use, grew dimmer until it did nothing but blink in rhythm, declaring it was still on.

"Roll down the windows."

Still fuming but slightly perturbed by the previous look in his eye, Lara did as she was told, flicking the 'Down' window switch to her left. With no prelude he chucked the cell at his paralleling alleyway brick wall. Her Nextel never stood a chance. That was two hundred down the drain.

He turned to her, "Give me your hand."

Lara hesitated.

"Andrews," He prodded in a tone that symbolized immediate punishment if she didn't, "give it here."

Slowly, she reached out her cut and bloodied wrist. She could just imagine what he was going to do as recompense for lost time and an attempt at escape. Dig his fingers into the wound, probably. Stretch out the gash. Something…something horrible. She steeled herself…

Grabbing her wrist, not harshly, but with the clinical coldness of a doctor, he inspected the damage. Looking up as if searching for something, Lara regarded him in surprise…what was he doing? His intent was made clear when he snatched a few discarded Wendy's napkins from the door pocket and pressed them to her ripped flesh, and then plucking two ponytail elastics from her stick shift he snapped them to her arm. Lara's mouth gaped in open shock. Tada! Instant tourniquet.

"That'll have to do for the time being, until we get to the hotel."

Lara was so stunned by his minstrations she asked blindly without thought, "What hotel?"

And just like that, whatever consideration had been in his gaze before evaporated. He pinned her with a hard look, "If you think I'm telling you anything after the stunt you just pulled, Andrews, you're sadly mistaken. Come on, we're late."

Her moving limbs were just going by natural reaction now. Start the car, back out of the alley, turn, drive. It frightened her that she was getting used to being ordered thus and following his every word.

"I need an address." She put out boldly.

"You need to shut up and drive."

"Okay. But how can I know where to drive if I don't know where I'm going?"

"2 S. Central Park." He snapped, "Happy?"

"No." She answered truthfully, "Cross Street?" She ventured.

"Fifth Avenue."

Lara had heard of that address before, but she couldn't remember where. It was an important place though.

"Charming boyfriend." He dropped the bomb.

"Don't." Lara was not in the mood. Not now.

She should have shrugged it off because her discomfort seemed to make it all the more interesting to him.

"But it's so intriguing…Lara Andrews, the girl others think is going places, who majored in music and minored in theater," He relayed the shreds of their earlier conversation they'd shared in the club before all of this had begun, "The one who dreams of becoming so famous and renowned that she can compose the score of a film (if she ever makes it to L.A.), shackled by a relationship like that…"

"Just drop it." She growled.

"I'm sure mommy and daddy wouldn't approve. I bet they don't even know, do they? Thought not. Not someone they'd want their baby with. They don't want their little girl out with a bad guy. No parent does. If I were in their place I'd feel the same."

"Then why am I still here?" Lara asked, hitting him with the question de jour.

"I said 'if' I was in their place…" A subtle curl of his lips followed that thought, "Am I really the bad guy, Andrews? I may have ruined your life tonight, but judging by your Ex's not so polite exchange of words, I wasn't the first. You want to think I'm the villain? Okay, I'm the villain…but not of your sad little story."

"Could've fooled me." But the venom wasn't in the words she uttered now.

At a stop light he ordered her to brush her hair while he checked his palm pilot.

"Why?" She asked, yanking a brush she found on the floor of the car, through her unruly tangles.

"It's a nice place and you look like hell." He murmured distractedly, penning buttons on his hand held screen. She glanced quickly at him, his furrowed brown, and then directed her line of sight back on the lights, lest they take her by surprise by turning green while she wasn't paying attention.

"Well, that's interesting."

"What?" She glanced at him quickly again, his tone suggesting something compelling enough to serve as another catalyst for this night. She didn't know if she could handle anymore. "What's interesting?"

He looked up, "The light's green." He noted. Lara took her cue as he closed his pilot and pocketed it again.

"Any other job, Lara…turn here…"

She did, feeling as if her life hung in the balance of his next sentence.

"Any other…and you'd be home by dawn. No worse for wear."

Something about his phrasing stilled her and made her feel ill.

"What do you mean 'I would'?"

He wouldn't answer and Lara turned to him quickly.

"My trip's been extended." He caught her horrified stare and his lips curled back from his teeth, making them seem sharper than they actually were. Lara couldn't breathe. "We have another night to enjoy one another's company. Pull up here."

Lara did so without thinking.

"Get out."

She did. And gasped.

"What are we doing here?" She exclaimed.

"This is where we're staying." He replied moving around her to shut the door and take a hold of her arm. She let him, she couldn't think clearly.

"You can't be serious."

He raised a brow and herded her into the main lobby, past the main doors above which hung the letters The Plaza. Now she knew where she had heard the address. She'd only driven past this place a hundred times in the past, wishing she could spend a night in it before she died. Now she was going to, and she wished she wasn't.

He checked them in and a bellboy showed them to a suite. Lara couldn't take in the exquisite wealth it took to run a place like this; she couldn't see the opulence, the beauty of class. She just saw the carpet pass beneath her feet, and only felt Vincent's arm securely wrapped around her waist. He'd checked them in as husband and wife.

When they arrived to their room he'd dismissed the bellboy with a tip, leaving Lara to walk dazedly over to the bed where she sat down. Unable to hear, unable to see. Numb. Another night. God, she would give up right now. No human could bear another night with this man, in this position. She didn't even react when he took her limp hand and pulled her to her feet.

His hand brushed her chin, "We need to get you out of those clothes."

She jerked then, propelling herself as far away from him as she could. He paid it no more notice than a brief cruel grin, as he walked over to the phone.

"Yes, Room Service? I need a black dress."


End file.
